


Everything Has Changed

by Lil_Hal



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Post-Traumatic Brain Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:19:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Hal/pseuds/Lil_Hal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything Fitz believed in, all he had to show for his trust and loyalty to his "friend" Ward is the injuries from the accident.<br/>And these injuries cost him everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Has Changed

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a little thing i wrote up for another rp application! hope you guys like it alright :o i made it up really fast because i wanted to get it done so it's not the best.

Sometimes, it was hard to tell what was real and what was not.

The awakening from the nine-day-long coma left Fitz dazed, injured, and most of all, _changed._ He knew why, the moment he woke up he knew, but he couldn’t say it, he couldn’t express it. It was like someone set a scrambler to all his thoughts, all the phrases that linked into a sentence.

He couldn’t talk, at first. Nothing he tried to say would come out, especially because it was hard for him to work out what he was even _trying_ to say. Simmons came in the most often, she would sit down and she’d stare at him for a while, and then she’d talk in a wavering voice about whatever was the newest information in the world of Scitech. She thought that’d calm him, but it didn’t, while all he could do was stare dumbly at her, his head was splitting itself with every new bit of data she was spreading, all the words and thoughts that should make sense, all the scientific phrases that Fitz only vaguely understood. He _knew_ what she was saying, but he didn’t _know._ He couldn’t have explained what any of it meant even if he could talk.

It was a week before he said anything. It wasn’t even a sentence; Coulson was standing in the room (Simmons had left quite a while before, the tears in her eyes unmistakable) and Fitz stared at him for a few minutes before opening his mouth, no words coming out for more time than he’d like to admit, before he stammered out a “C-c-c...can...I...?” that’s as far as he got, he wasn’t sure what the words were to show that his mouth was dry, that he needed something to drink. Coulson’s face lit up, just a little, as if it was a _miracle_ that Fitz even spoke at all. After minutes of guessing, Coulson finally picked out the right words “have some water,” and gave Fitz the drink. The cup dropped out of his hands. Water spilled everywhere. 

It took a couple more weeks for him to figure out sentences. It was still hard, though, nine point five times out of ten he had to be supplied a word--no, words, multiple--and it frustrated him. When he got out of the hospital, sometimes the lights around him in the base were too bright, or too many people were talking, and he couldn’t think. Sometimes he’d try to pick things up and they’d slip out of his hand as if grip didn’t exist anymore, and sometimes he’d have fits of frustration. It happened more and more frequently as time went on, as people told him he’d get better, and when he didn’t, his eyes filled with tears and he’d knock something to the floor and start shaking his hands and stammering, never words, never sentences, just stammers, consonants, vowels. Nothing that meant anything. Sometimes he’d see things. Things would distort with their shape, or their color would change a little, and then it’d be back to normal. He stopped seeing things after a month, or so he thought.

It took him two weeks to realize Simmons left. Two weeks of him constantly needing her to supply his words, to voice his thoughts, to talk things out when eventually nobody tried with him anymore. He didn’t understand at first, the looks people would give him, when he’d turn to his best friend and shake his hand helplessly and when she provided the information and he nodded or said a simple “Y-yes” and looked to the person talking to him, they gave him this expression.

They had no idea what he meant. 

At first, he thought maybe his words were jumbled. That he spoke and somehow his brain didn’t actually send the right thoughts and so he was just saying things wrong. But two weeks in, he was about to go to lunch with Simmons when he heard Coulson and Skye talking, about _her,_ and that’s when he knew.

By that time, nobody was talking to him.

So he pretended he didn’t know, he _couldn’t_ let himself know, he had to fake it, because he had lost everything. 

And he wasn’t sure whether or not he’d ever get it back.


End file.
